


the long road home

by SmilinStar



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, post-season 2 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-19 04:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10632663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: It’s a long road home, and Rip doesn’t need a map. Just needs someone to point to his heart, and he’s there.





	1. but sometimes you have to go

**Author's Note:**

> So I may have jokingly said that I was going to write a ‘101 ways Rip returns to the Waverider and finally realises he belongs there’ fic, but I kind of ran away with that idea and turned it instead into this three-parter. I hope you enjoy it :-)
> 
> Chapter titles from 'Come back home' by Lauv.

][

 

“Is that . . ?” Disbelief.

“Nah, can’t be.” Dismissal.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not him,” Martin says, ever the voice of reason.

She’s Jax, Nate and Stein all at the same. Because it can’t be him, Sara tells herself. They haven’t heard from him in months, and she’s long since stopped turning to her right expecting him to be sitting there still. It must be two months since the last time she’s looked across the console expecting the slight nod of approval, or the encouragement glittering in his eyes. That constant presence beside her, lending strength without saying a word, is something she’s had to learn to do without.

The cold reality of his choice tells her it’s not him. But, even then, for the briefest of moments, hope flares with a glimpse of an old, beaten, brown trench coat in the crowd.

There are the subtle differences that give it away.

He’s just a little too short, has more meat on his bones – doesn’t look like he’s spent his entire life starving. The hair too – it’s darker than she remembers.

That doesn’t deter her from stopping in her tracks though, and silently willing him to turn around.

And then he does. And, of course, it’s not him.

This is the last time, she promises, the last time she’ll do this to herself.

Because there’s no point searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found. Doesn’t care enough to come back when the world’s falling to pieces around them.

“Sara,” Ray’s voice crackles to life in her ear, “we have the Time Chasm secured.”

She takes a breath, and shakes the thought from her head before refocussing on the here and now. “Good job guys. Meet us back at the Waverider.”

She turns to face the remaining members of her team and with a jerk of her head, orders, “Let’s move out.”

If she stops at the top of the cargo bay ramp and stares back at the horizon, and hopes yet again? Well, she thinks, promises were made to be broken, after all.

 

][

 

_Stay out of trouble._

_Ha_ , he thinks, there had always been little chance of that happening.

Should have realised breaking the cardinal rule of time travel would come with its consequences. As if a few Time Storms here and there would be the limit of the repercussions they would face. When has he ever been so lucky?

Never is the answer.

He doesn’t let himself think about it too much as he walks away from the only home he knows and steps onto the jump ship. Doesn’t think about all the goodbyes he should have said because his courage always comes in waves and there’s a reason he made his decision to leave at low tide. He barely survived Sara’s – there was so much more he wanted to tell her, should have said, but the words were swallowed away with the lump in his throat and his efforts to surrender to the voice that screamed in his ear to ‘Stay. Just Stay,’ were weak and easily overpowered by another.

Another voice: more persistent, louder and clamouring to be heard. It’s his own voice, he recognises, flooding his lungs, and drowning everything out. _They don’t need you anymore_ , it says.

He doesn’t know who he is any more. No longer a captain, a husband, a father. Never really a son. A friend? Could have been. A Legend? No, not one of those.

He thinks he needs to find out. Find out if he really does have a purpose, a reason to take up space on this little planet of theirs, if he isn’t any one of those.

And so he does it. Disengages the jump ship from the Waverider and fights the urge to look back.

He doesn’t plot a destination. Just flies.

It’s peaceful in a way aimless wandering has never felt before.

For just a moment he forgets about what he’s left behind, all that Time has stripped away from him.

It’s him flying once again into the sun.

Bright and welcoming, and the flicker of warm oranges and gold shimmer in the distance, and it’s only as he nears it that the peace shatters and he realises that he’s lost control of his ship. The currents that pull him in are too strong, and he can’t break free. And no, that’s not a sun, and no, he hadn’t been aiming for it in the first place, because he’s healed just enough to want to live but peace has a unique ability to lull one into a daze of false security.

_Oh dear,_ he thinks, as the jump ship gets sucked into a magnetic field too strong for him to overcome and all he can think of then is Sara and her parting words:

_Stay out of trouble._

Yes, well. That lasted a grand total of ten minutes.

_Fantastic._

 

][

 

Dinosaurs in Central City.

It’s the first of the problems they face.

Because, yes, Sara’s statement had been no exaggeration.

They had literally _broken time._

Giant gaping cracks in the fabric of time. Shimmering, beautiful, deadly chasms that allow the passage of fractured time streams and all manners of chaos.

The Jurassic period meets the twenty-first century in a clash of confused and disorientated beasts and manmade prisons of steel beams and nothing but metal, tarmac and concrete, and screaming humans the size of ants under their feet. It’s an impressive display of destruction, as their fifty feet tails sweep into skyscrapers and they stampede through the city centre.

As far as disasters go, it’s pretty epic.

But like everything before it, they somehow get through to the other side with the help of sheer, dumb luck.

And okay, maybe a little bit of their smarts too.

Somehow both Ray and Professor Stein stumble upon the solution to closing the Time Chasm amongst endless theorising and hours using Gideon and her infinite database to run simulations. She doesn't quite understand how the gizmo they've constructed works but it does the job - shrinking the crack in time to nothing but a glimmer in the skyline before snuffing out like two fingers pressed to a flame.

Fortuitously, it severs whatever link between the time streams and the dinosaurs fade out of existence, well in the twenty-first century at least, or so she hopes it’s just in the twenty-first century. Gideon later confirms this to be true, and she won’t deny the huge breath of relief that leaves her lips when she does.

But the destruction? The grand scale of loss that's left behind? That’s another matter altogether. Sara doesn't know how to fix it. Not one of them do.

And she can't help but think that _he_ would.

But he's not here.

Just vanished and left them here to deal with the mess of countless Time Chasms and the ramifications of Earth’s past, present and future being turned into one gigantic aberration.

Months of missing him turns to a burn of a different kind.

Anger.

She's so angry. And sometimes she’s blind with the rage of it. It takes hours of pummelling into the leather of a punching bag for the blood lust to simmer down until it's nothing but a dull hum under her skin.

That's how Mick finds her one morning: tape coming undone, bleeding knuckles smearing red, with no end to her vigour in sight.

He steadies the bag, let's her throw two more punches before finally speaking up, “I think you've had enough Blondie.”

She throws her next punch with a little more force and gains some satisfaction from the step Mick has to take backwards.

“What’s got you so fired up then?”

She bites her tongue and throws another punch.

“I can guess.”

She scoffs. As if he can-

“Skinny, annoying Englishman, am I right?”

She stops mid-swing, and blinks.

She expects a shit-eating grin on his face, because he got it in one and she still doesn’t know _how_ he’s even put it together. She’s never uttered a word to anyone.

But Mick isn’t even looking at her, his attention on some spot on the far wall, face unreadable, “I never liked the guy, but I wouldn’t have wished him dead.”

Her heart shudders to a stop in her chest. A painful squeeze before it feels like it’s given up on her.

_Dead._

“Dead,” she says carefully, evenly, “Who said anything about him being dead?”

“Why else hasn’t he shown up to yell at us for screwing up?” he shrugs as if it really is as logical as that.

Sara stares back at him, momentarily stunned, barely hears his words as he asks, “You good?”

She nods, “Yeah.”

He lets go of the bag and walks out the room. She misses his remark about getting her knuckles looked at before he does – her mind too busy spinning with thoughts, teetering dangerously, ready to fly off in every direction.

She slumps to the floor, her head leaning back against the wall of the Waverider.

_Dead._

She’d replaced fear with anger because it had been so much easier.

Because Mick, she realises, is right. There’s only one way Captain Rip Hunter would abandon his mission to protect time, and that was if he was dead, _or_ . . .

Her heart lets out a slow thump, one after another, until it hits a steady rhythm bursting with purpose.

“Gideon?” she calls out.

“Yes, Captain Lance?”

“Do you have a location on the jump ship and Captain Hunter?”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she says, and the AI almost sounds apologetic, “I have no new information to offer since you last asked of Captain Hunter’s whereabouts.”

She nods, asks a different question this time. One she hadn’t thought to ask before now;

“What if the reason he hasn’t come back is because _he can’t?_ What if he’s been pulled into a different time stream?”

Gideon doesn’t answer straightaway, and Sara holds her breath.

“Gideon?”

“Theoretically, it’s possible. The strong electromagnetic currents and distortion of time at the centre of a Chasm would account for me being unable to get a read on the jump ship’s signal.”

“But you have his last known location?”

“Yes.”

“Plot a course.”

“Captain?”

“I’m bringing him home.”

 

][

 

It’s been three months and he’s still alive.

No one is more surprised than himself. Although that could also be because there’s no one else around for miles to place a wager on how long he’ll last. And he’s searched. Though he’s never ventured too far from his damaged jump ship – too afraid to get lost in the wilderness and too afraid of the wildlife and beasts that linger in the darkness – he knows for sure he’s alone. He only goes far enough to hunt for his food and play Russian Roulette with the flora. So far, he’s been lucky. A few episodes of violent vomiting, one unfortunate episode of hallucinations as if he’d been on some acid trip, but he’s pitched camp not too far from a fresh water source, so he can’t complain. Much.

He has no idea where he’s crash landed. If he has to hazard a guess, it’s at least a few hundred years B.C. But he can’t be too sure.

All he knows is that his hope is fading with every passing day. The distress signal from his damaged ship is waning as the power source depletes. More than that, the glittering orb in the sky, which he is positive is a tear in time itself, is shrinking smaller, healing itself and sealing back up. If by any slim chance the Waverider had been searching for him, without it, he has no hope of them finding him.

The nights are cold. Brutally so.

He wraps himself up as best as he can, and takes shelter in his ship as the wind speed picks up around him.

He lets his eyes droop shut.

For the first few weeks he had hardly slept. Every noise, a snap of a branch or a twig, the cry of a wild animal, had him on full alert and too afraid to close his eyes.

Somewhere along the way, as hope faded, he found he didn’t care so much.

If he was going to die, better to die in his sleep.

He used to dream.

Images of Jonas running around in his far too large leather jacket playing at being him. Miranda standing there, smiling so wide, pure happiness beaming from her eyes as she called out his name.

“Rip.”

Except somewhere along the way, the images changed and the voices changed and he thinks it’s Sara he hears now.

“Rip? RIP!”

He jerks awake.

There’s nothing but his heart beating in his ears.

And then the crackle of static, and he wonders if he’s dreaming still.

“Rip? Are you there? Can you hear me? Rip?”

“Sara?” he whispers, voice cracking on her name, throat dry from days of disuse.

“Rip?” And there’s a hint of disbelief and he knows exactly how she feels.

“Sara? Yes, yes it’s me. How did you-”

“Your signal. We only managed to pick it up once we reached the Time Chasm. You need to hold on. Ray’s figured out a way to get you back to our time stream, you just need to trust us.”

“Okay,” he breathes out, “I trust you.”

There’s a small moment before she answers, her voice taking on a soft edge he’s heard so rarely. “Hold on Rip,” she says, “Just hold on.”

And for her, he does.

For her, he thinks he always will.

 

][

 

Martin finds her in Rip’s office.

It’ll always be Rip’s office, she can’t find it in her to think of the space as anything else. She hasn’t touched any of it. All his little trinkets and artefacts, his collection of vinyl and the secret stash of whiskey he keeps out of view, have remained where they are. Yes, even the latter. It felt wrong to drink it without him.

Somehow she’d always believed he’d be back, though a snide voice in her head reminds her, this wasn’t by choice. It’s not the same free will that had him turn on his heels and leave in the first place. And that gnaws away at the pit of her stomach and the unease refuses to settle.

She doesn’t look up from the desk and the sheaved dagger in her hand as she carelessly spins it between her fingers, and asks, “How’s he doing?”

“He’s alive. Just about. Severely malnourished, weak, but Gideon is keeping a close eye on his vitals and electrolytes to prevent refeeding syndrome. But I am positive Mr Hunter will make a full recovery.”

She nods, and looks back at him, “Thank you.”

“Yes, well I’m just glad we found him when we did. I’m not sure how much longer he would have lasted out there. I shudder to think what he’s been through.”

Sara tortures herself with that thought too, but she decides to give herself a reprieve for the night.

“You should get some rest Captain. There’s nothing more you can do for him now.” The concern is written all over his face, and she’s touched. She truly is.

She offers him a reassuring smile, “I will. I promise.”

That seems to satisfy him as he takes his leave with a nod of his head, and a “Goodnight.”

She sits there a while longer after he’s gone. And though she knows she’s made a promise, she’s been getting into a habit of breaking those without thought, and so she sees no harm in taking a minor detour along the way.

Her feet carry her to the med bay.

The lights are dimmed; the room dark except for the luminescent readings of his vital signs on the monitor and the flash of the rhythmic pulse of his heart tracing. He sleeps on in the reclined chair on the far side. There’s the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and though it soothes her, her eyes can’t help but flicker up to his face as she settles into the chair opposite.

His cheeks have hollowed out, the beard on his face overgrown and unkempt and it makes him look even more gaunt. There are lines of tension around his eyes, setting his jaw, and she thinks whatever is running through his mind, haunts him. She wants to reach out and smooth away the crinkles as if that will chase the monsters away, and it’s an urge she can’t explain.

_Guilt._

The word rises up like bile in her throat. It’s guilt.

She should have known something was wrong the very second he didn’t return with the first Time Chasm. She should have known better to think Rip Hunter would abandon them with time literally breaking apart. She’d thought him selfish and single-minded in pursuit of his own interests once.

Once, when she hadn’t really known him at all.

But she does know him.

Of course she does.

How can she not when they share so many of the same demons?

She’ll later blame guilt for keeping her there. Worry plays its role just as well, maybe even relief has its part. And so she sits there listening to the steady beep of the machine as the gentle hum of the Waverider lulls her to sleep.

The comfort of knowing he’ll still be there in the morning is enough to pave the way to slumbering oblivion.

Funny then, how he’s gone when she wakes.

In a way that isn’t funny at all.

 

][

 

Rip spends most of his time avoiding the mirrors.

His is a reflection he has no desire to see.

But then three days of taunts and jibes about the bush on his face likely growing to lengths that could support whole ecosystems has him raising his chin to a blade and his eyes finally land on what has kept his former team so amused.

He looks terrible.

He’s never really been a healthy-looking fellow, but this is _bad. Ancient Egypt and Vandal Savage levels of bad._

He takes the razor to his beard and doesn’t look at himself again.

If he thinks that’ll end the teasing, he gets it so very wrong.

Mick dissolves into a fit of gruff chuckles, which is downright alarming. Ray, literally coos at him, which only spurs on Jax’s hoots of laughter.

“What?” he demands, “What exactly do you all find so amusing?”

Sara does a double take when she enters the kitchen just after him. There’s a flicker of a smile on her face which is more than he’s got out of her in three days. Three days since he woke up in the med bay to find her asleep in the chair next to him, curled up on her side, and he couldn’t help himself from reaching out and pressing a hand to her cheek to convince himself that she was real. Three days since he stumbled out onto the bridge and the exertion from that small walk had him collapse in an embarrassing heap of exhaustion. Three days since she found him there half unconscious on the steps to his old office, and she had to summon Mr Rory to haul him back to the med bay. Three days since she’d looked at him with those fearful, then furious, blue eyes. Three days, and she had yet to utter a word to him still.

“Forgotten how to shave, have we English?”

Ah yes. He tentatively reaches up, rubs a hand across his chin, “I may have nicked myself a few times.”

“A few?” Jax grins.

“It happens to the best of us Mr Jackson.”

“If you’re twelve,” Mick snorts.

Rip rolls his eyes as he turns away to put the kettle on, “Yes, well it has been some time since I’ve had-”

The rest of his words die on his tongue as he spins back around to see the back of Sara’s head as she leaves.

He mumbles a quick, “Excuse me gentlemen,” and follows after, ignoring the looks that get thrown his way.

She’s fast. She’s already disappeared around the corner of the corridor, and he breaks into a light jog to catch up to her.

“Captain Lance?” he calls out, “Captain?”

She just keeps on walking.

“Sara!”

There’s a stutter in her step, and she visibly slows.

“I feel I owe you an apology, although I confess to not knowing what exactly I’d be apologising for? So maybe you could take pity and just tell me?”

She turns ever so slightly to the side, faces the wall, not him. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

“And yet, I can’t help but think you’re seconds away from drawing a knife on me.” He means it to come out light-hearted; bring her around to familiar ground, except of course he’s never done very well with making jokes, and the sharp look she gives him then tells him he’s botched it up. Again.

Brilliant.

“If this is about me not returning to help with the whole matter of ‘breaking time’, then I’m sure you know that’s-”

“Ridiculous?” she suggests with a raised brow as she faces him fully, arms folding across her chest.

He finds himself standing just a little straighter. “Actually, I was going to say ‘not my fault’.”

“Debateable.”

Now that has him jerking his head back, “And how exactly is me getting pulled through a tear in time _my fault?_ I had no control over that. No control over where I ended up!”

“Yes,” she snaps, taking a step forward, “But you did have control over whether you left in the first place!”

Her eyes widen as she realises what she’s said and Rip finds himself taking a step backwards, “You said it was fine.”

“I never said it was fine,” she replies in a low voice, and he can see the visible effort it takes to calm herself down.

He takes a breath, concedes the point, “Is that why you’re angry at me?”

She looks away again, “I’m not angry at you, Rip.”

And there’s a little seedling that takes root then, leaves that grow up and out, taking on a shapeless form he can’t yet name. “But you’re angry at yourself?” he asks quietly.

She doesn’t answer him, just watches him carefully. He senses when she shutters it away, the corners of her lips twitching up into a smile as she changes the subject, “You looked better with the beard.”

A surprised huff of laughter leaves his lips, as his hand comes up yet again to rub at his bare chin, “I thought I’d try something different.”

“Yeah,” she tilts her head as if assessing him, “not really working for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She takes a step backwards, “I uh need to . . .”

“Yes, you uh go do . . . that.”

He lets her escape, but not very far because he can’t help himself from calling back out, “Sara?”

“Yeah?”

“I really am okay.”

She nods, “I know.”

And because it needs to be said. “Thank you.”

She smiles, and it truly is rather beautiful.

 

][

 

She relives that moment. Over and over.

Waking to find him gone. The moment her heart lurches painfully in her chest because he’s _gone._ Again. The way her voice had barely been a cracked whisper as she asked Gideon, without even having to utter the words because she had just _known_ what (or more like _who_ ) it was she was searching for. She relives running onto the bridge to find him slumped there, unconscious, and for the longest of seconds thinking the worst. It’s the worst sort of nightmare - after all that, to not feel the thrum of his pulse beneath her fingertips. To have him _just gone_.

It’s always the same, and she always wakes in a sweat, heart pounding against her ribcage.

She kicks away her bedsheets and swings her legs around to settle at the edge of her bed.

He’d been right.

She was angry.

Angry at herself.

Angry because she shouldn’t care so much.

But she does. And she _hates it._

Because caring too much means having something to lose.

And she can’t lose any _one_ else.

It’s not just about him.

_It’s not._

 

][

 

“A Time Chasm?”

“Yeah,” Jax shrugs, “Big hole in time. Time streams falling through it. A Time Chasm.”

“I came up with it,” Ray adds, waving his arm up in the air, a big self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Actually, you’ll find, I’m the one that even gave you the idea for the name in the first place,” Nate chimes in from behind him.

Rip looks across the room, finds a partner in Amaya, who stands there at the table with an equally exasperated expression.

“Time Chasm,” he repeats dumbly. “That’s a terrible name.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad!” Ray has the gall to look crestfallen.

And it feels rather bizarre on his face, but he can’t help but smile. Because he’s missed this. He’s missed this little band of misfits. He’s missed his dear Legends.

So he takes a step back, and just takes it all in around him. The steadily growing hum of noise as they all fight to talk over each other, the glares being sent across the room as if Firestorm themselves were throwing fireballs, the incessant bickering and disagreements, and childish name-calling (courtesy of Mr Rory, of course).

He feels someone bump his shoulder and he doesn’t have to look down to know it’s her standing beside him.

“So you think Time ripping itself to shreds is funny, do you?”

“No,” he shakes his head once, “You’re quite right. I’m sorry. It’s all very serious business.”

“Tell that to your face.”

He tilts his head down to look at her and finds her smiling up at him, her face a lot closer to his than he’d been expecting. And yet somehow the urge to move away never hits him, and he stays exactly where he is.

“I never knew you could do that,” she says softly.

“Do what?”

“Smile.”

And just like that, the corners of his mouth drop back down to neutral, and he hates himself a little because hers follows suit.

And so he doesn’t think too much about it as he admits, “Well, maybe I just missed you.”

All.

Maybe I just missed you _all_ , is what he’s meant to say, but that’s not what he tells her.

But of course she knows.

Of course he couldn’t have meant anything else.

“We missed you too,” she says, and he tells himself he isn’t disappointed.

He isn’t.

 

][

 

It’s been a week, and she supposes it’s longer than she thought he would have lasted.

But she guesses she should have expected it. Especially when he told them all that what had been broken couldn’t be fixed. Yes, they could heal the Time Chasms (he reluctantly used the term but not without shuddering each time), but the damage that was done? That was irreparable. It couldn’t be undone. It was a rule to never be broken for a reason, after all.

Sense had told her from the minute they had got him back onboard the Waverider that he would up and leave again. Because whatever the reason he’d first stepped off and climbed aboard the jump ship hadn’t changed. If anything, the fact that their current situation is so helpless only adds to his argument, and she knows he’s got it there in his arsenal.

Doesn’t mean it hurts any less to find him there in his room; duffel bag open on his bed, nearly packed to the brim as he stands there with an apologetic expression she’s getting rather tired of.

“Leaving again so soon?” she says, tone even.

He reaches over the bed and grabs hold of his duffel, pulling the zipper close. “Nothing’s changed, Sara.”

“Hasn’t it? I mean, I would say cracks in the fabric of time is a pretty big change, wouldn’t you?”

“And I have nothing to add to fixing the problem that you all haven’t already thought of.”

She feels the familiarity of her old friend anger burning behind her eyes.

“The truth, Rip. I want the truth. This has got nothing to do with whatever place you think you have on this team. Whatever it is you think you can or can’t teach us. You know you belong here. I saw it on your face that day.”

He sits his hands on his waist, leans forward and back onto the balls of his feet as he looks up at the ceiling of his room, blows out a breath before looking back at her.

“You’re right.”

And she hates the little bubble of hope that rises up, because she knows it’ll burst. All bubbles inevitably do.

It’s not surprising then when he turns away, slowly hefting the bag up onto his shoulder as he steps towards her.

“So stay,” she whispers, and it’s the first and last time she’ll ever ask him.

“I need time.”

“Time,” she repeats on an alarmingly wet laugh.

Time. How’s that for irony?

_Time for what?_ she wants to ask, but doesn’t. Instead she takes a breath and reaches out her hand for a shake.

“I guess,” she says, “this is turning into our thing?”

He steps into the handshake, hand clasping hers, as his other reaches up to press against her cheek, thumb rubbing away a stray, rebel tear and the breath catches in her throat.

“Maybe it is,” he says with a pained look, before dropping his hand and walking towards the door.

He stops there and she turns to meet his gaze, “Do try and stay out of trouble Captain Lance, won’t you?”

She tilts her head to the side, and bites down on a sad smile, “I make no promises.”

“Ah yes, knowing our lot, I suppose that’s wise.”

He turns to leave and she calls out one last time, “Rip?”

He spins back.

“We’ll see you soon?”

He doesn’t say anything, but she thinks the gentle nod of his head and the barest hint of a smile is all the answer she needs.

For now.

 

 


	2. trade your heart for bones to know

 

][

 

It’s been good for him.

Learning to let go.

With no vendetta left to fulfil and no allegiance to a body of liars and master manipulators hanging around his neck like an albatross, Rip finally gets to breathe. It’s an odd sensation. He doesn’t think he’s ever stopped to think about how it feels to expand his lungs without the tight binds of grief, guilt and shame squeezing around his chest, pressing heavy against his heart.

It still catches him off-guard now and again, but it doesn’t knock him off his feet anymore. And he thinks he can live with that, because he’s never going to stop missing his dead wife and son, and he’s made his peace with that.

There’s a freedom in knowing he can’t change fate, and the acceptance has been long time coming and long overdue.

It’s the others that surprise him.

The others that seem to flicker across his mind at the most random of moments. Simplest things remind him of his old team mates, and if he were to recognise the churning in his gut, he’d label it homesickness.

Except he doesn’t recognise it.

Not yet.

It’s been four months since he took his leave of the Waverider.

He’d been better with his goodbyes this time around and he thinks that earned him enough good karma to stop him getting sucked into a Time Chasm within minutes of leaving.

With the Legends having healed most of those rifts in time, he’s found it remarkably easy moving from place to place, time to time. For the first time ever he’s finally been able to take a step back and appreciate the wonder of time travel. He realises he’s had a pretty skewered view of it all up till now – nothing but horror and bloodshed in the hellish depths of humanity. It’s good for his soul to see a little beauty, see a little kindness and hope in the world after so much time in the dark.

Of course, part of him argues he’s seen it before.

In fact, he’s seeing it now and his breath catches in his chest. And he thinks, of all the wonders in the world, this must surely be one. Because what are the chances?

A run-down inn in the middle of Yorkshire, 1894, and he’s just minding his own business and enjoying a quiet drink when he hears her first through the surrounding din.

He recognises that voice instantly.

“Come on Jax,” she says, “I think you’ve had more than enough.”

“Think you should listen to the pretty lady,” the barkeep says, tone both smarmy and condescending, and he can just imagine the expression on her face at the ‘pretty’. Oh no, she won’t take kindly to that.

“I’ve got this buddy, thanks,” she snaps.

“Ooh we got ourselves a livewire here, gentlemen.”

There’s some tittering and whistling that follows, a few lecherous stares and he imagines it’s been a while since any of these vagrants have seen a beautiful woman, least of all one that isn’t a wallflower, or afraid to talk back.

Rip swallows down the last of his drink before muttering so quietly no one hears, “You have no idea.”

He stands up just in time to see her throw the first punch.

There’s a series of angry curses and shouts, and in the middle of it all Jax whooping and yelling, “Come on Sara, let’s kick their asses.” In his inebriated state he only needs one flimsy punch to the face to be knocked out cold. So much for _kicking ass_.

But he knows Sara’s got this handled. Pub brawls seem to be a little speciality of hers, so he takes a moment just to revel in it. Revel in her. The fluidity, the grace, the fierceness and determination.

She sees a monster, he’s only ever seen beauty.

He decides he’s had enough of sitting on the side-lines though when one of the patrons decides to play dirty and pulls out a knife while she has her back turned. He sees red, leaps forward without any thought and packs a punch that leaves his knuckles smarting.

Sara swings around, knocking out one of the men with a bar stool, before she finally notices him, her mouth falling open with the shock.

“Rip?”

“Is this you staying out of trouble, then?” he says.

The smile on her face blossoms and he’s rendered motionless for the barest of seconds by it. But, of course, it’s long enough for him to get sucker-punched.

He hits the floor, and dazedly looks up to find Sara standing over him, hand outstretched, “Nice to see some things never change.”

He groans, “No they don’t.”

 

][

 

The only reason she ends up in that bar is because Jax storms off after having yet another spectacular argument with Martin. She hadn’t been privy to all the details, but from what Amaya had told her the fight had got pretty heated, and had ended with Jax marching off muttering something along the lines of, “Belligerent, I’ll show you belligerent!” How that equated to him ending up in a nineteenth century tavern, she doesn’t know. She has no idea what goes on in his head, and it’s at times like these that she’s frankly grateful that she doesn’t share a psychic link with another human being. She can barely cope with her own thoughts in her head.

Of course, no visit to a bar would be complete without it devolving into a brawl and some fisticuffs. What is a surprise though, is _him_.

He’s the last person she expects to see. Here of all places.

Expects? No. Hopes? Yes. Always.

She’d be lying if she admits to anything other than always hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar brown coat, or hearing that instantly recognisable accent, with that same dry, unamused tone, everywhere they go.

Time slows and speeds up in strange ways.

Everything comes to a halt as she spins around to find him standing there shaking his fist as if he still hasn’t learnt how to throw a proper punch. Though it seems he hasn’t learnt to fare any better with ducking them either, and it all becomes a little bit of a blur after Rip hits the floor. She manages to haul him to his feet, before they each take one cursory look around the room, weigh their odds and decide to cut their losses. They exchange no words, and it feels just like old times as Rip cocks his head as if to wordlessly say, _“After you, Captain Lance.”_

She grins and they make a run for it, dragging a half-conscious Jax with them.

When they get back to the Waverider, they make it a priority to get him settled in the med bay first. Gideon takes over almost immediately, assures them he’ll make a full recovery and that there’ll be no lasting damage, except for maybe a bruised ego in the morning.

“Ah I’ve missed you Gideon,” Rip says to that.

“And I you, Captain Hunter. It’s good to have you back.”

He nods, but his face twists into an expression that doesn’t do much to hide his guilt and whatever fleeting thought she may have had that this time, _this time_ , he’ll stay, vanishes just like that.

Sara makes a motion to leave the room, and for him to follow.

He falls easily into step beside her as they walk the corridor of the Waverider, and she can’t help but sneak glances up at him.

He looks _better._ His neatly trimmed beard is back in place, hair just the right length. His eyes are no longer sunken, but bright, and full of life in a way that they hadn’t been before. It’s enough to detract from the bruise on his face.

She blurts it out before she can think about it too hard; “You look well, Rip. Good. You look good.”

He blushes, “You mean aside from my rapidly swelling cheekbone and the various purplish hues my skin is currently turning?”

“Yes, _aside_ from that.”

His lips twitch.

“You look very well too, Captain Lance.”

She snorts, “I do try.”

They turn a corner, and it’s strange how she doesn’t really know which way they’re going even though she now knows this ship so well, she could walk it blindfolded.

“So, what were you doing in bonny England in 1894 then?” she asks, putting on a poor British accent by the look of horror on Rip’s face. “Sorry,” she winces.

“Yes, maybe best never to try that ever again.”

“Hey!” she says, swatting his arm, “It wasn’t that bad!”

“My ears are still bleeding.”

“No, I think you’ll find that’s from getting your ass handed to you by a group of old, drunken Englishmen who can’t hold their liquor!”

He huffs out a breath of what passes for laughter in the case of Rip Hunter, and shakes his head, “Anyway, back to your original question. I think _you’ll find_ the better question is, what were _you_ doing there, and what on earth happened between Mr Jackson and Professor Stein to get him into such a state?”

The smile leaves her lips as she sighs, “You should probably ask them, I couldn’t get a word out of either.”

She appreciates it now. Just how hard it is to be Captain. How difficult it is to marry the roles of leader and decision-maker, with team mate and friend. The lines get blurry and sometimes it feels so much easier to draw the lines in the sand and stay on the one side. Easier, but lonely. And she has a whole new level of respect for the man beside her, who she thinks never gave himself enough credit for the job he did do. Too quick to wave it away in her direction.

“And what makes you think I’ll have any luck?”

She doesn’t answer him as they come to a stop.

It takes a moment before he notices, pointing to the door on the right, brow furrowed.

Seems she can’t run from her subconscious, though she doesn’t let it show. She waves it away as if this had always been the plan; “Forgotten where your quarters are already, Rip? It’s only been four months.”

Not that she’s been counting.

“I appreciate the thought, Captain, but these are no longer my quarters. I no longer have a room I can rightfully call my own on this ship.”

“It’ll always be your room.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but she doesn’t let him, steps back away from him and says, “Stay as long as you need to, or you know, don’t, if that’s what you want.”

“I’d like that,” he says, and then quick to clarify, “Stay. At least for a few days. The jump ship could do with updating its system and the time drive. It also needs a few repairs . . .” He trails off and all Sara can hear are the excuses, and she can’t help but smile.

“Take all the time you need.”

 

][

 

Reuniting with the team is wonderfully lacking in fanfare.

He finds Ray tinkering away with his A.T.O.M. suit in one of the empty, unused compartments. He gets a beaming smile for a hello when he looks up from his work;

“Rip! Good to see! What do you think?” he asks gesturing to his pride and joy, “I’ve made a few alterations to the design, was going for a more sleek and subtle look.”

Truthfully, it doesn’t look any different from the last time he saw it.

“Looks wonderful Dr Palmer.”

He nods and looks down at it lovingly, “Yeah, it does.”

Rip thinks he needs to give the man a moment, “I’ll uh leave you to it then.”

“Oh yeah, sure. Oh before you go,” Ray calls out, “could you pass me that screwdriver there, yep that one. Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Glad I could be of service.”

Ray gets back to tending to his suit and Rip silently slips away.

Next, he finds Mick in the galley, feet up on the table, half-eaten cupcake in his hand. He looks up at him with his mouth around pink icing and doesn’t so much as show a flicker of acknowledgement when he enters. And so Rip just carries on, pulls out his old mug and pours himself a cup of tea.

He settles into the seat across from him and the silence is a whole lot more comfortable than any stilted conversation.

Mick doesn’t say a word as he finishes off his cupcake and stands up.

Rip reproachfully eyes the empty plate full of crumbs on the table and bites down his words.

But of course, Mick pays it no mind as he walks past him on his way out. He finds himself holding his breath when he stops at his side, and his large hand drops down heavy on his shoulder.

“Don’t even think about touching my cupcakes.”

He breathes out.

“Nice to see you too, Mr Rory.”

Mick grunts out his response and leaves him to enjoy his tea.

He bumps into Nate and Amaya shortly after. It’s just as he’s leaving the galley that he hears the giggling, and is more than a little surprised at its source.

Rip is naturally the least familiar with them, but he knows them to be excellent fits for the team and he has a great deal of respect for Ms Jiwe. He thinks it’s only natural the two newest members of the team (although they were hardly new anymore) had grown the closest, so he doesn’t think too much about their proximity to one another as they walk towards him.

Mr Heywood is the first to notice him, and his reaction is exuberant in a way he isn’t used to.

The man leaps forward and grabs him in a brief hug, “Rip! It’s good to see you man!” He then pulls away and claps onto his shoulders and asks, “How are you doing?”

Rip does his best to school the look of bewilderment off his face, and manages to nod, “Very well, thank you Mr Heywood.”

“Ms Jiwe,” he greets with a nod.

Amaya nods back, “Mr Hunter, it’s good to see you well.”

“Likewise.”

“What brings you back around?” Nate asks, stepping back.

“Oh just need to do some repairs on the jump ship. Speaking of which, I should really get back to it.”

Amaya nods, “Yes of course.”

He’s nearly at the end of the corridor, before Nate calls back to him, “Oh we’re having a games night, tonight, you should join us.”

Games night.

He’s not sure he likes the sound of that, but somehow knows he’ll end up there anyway, and so doesn’t bother fighting it;

“Sounds . . . _fun_ ,” he says. “I’ll see you there.”

 

][

 

Sara doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Actually, that’s entirely untrue. She can’t help but seek him out. She knows he’ll be off again soon, and the thought of it still hurts, even though it shouldn’t.

Part of her thinks it would be easier to stay away. Getting used to his presence again will only push her right back to step one, but the darker part of her mind argues that four months away hasn’t made the slightest difference, she’s always been there stuck on that same rung of the ladder, so why should she deny herself now?

She doesn’t hear the beginnings of the conversation as she walks past the med bay to know how they got to this point, but it’s Martin’s question which stops her in her tracks.

“Do you still miss them? No, I’m sorry,” he’s quick to correct, “That’s a stupid question really, isn’t it?”

“No,” Rip answers softly, “Not a stupid question. I do. Of course, I do. But in the beginning, it was this all-consuming, gnawing ache and I felt like I was constantly drowning in it, struggling for air. But now . . . _now_ , I find myself thinking of them less and less, and all I feel is-”

“Guilt?” Martin offers.

Rip doesn’t answer but she thinks his silence does it for him.

“It’s a good thing, Rip. You’re allowed to move on.”

“Yes, but what kind of a husband, father does that make me?”

“One that’s loved and lost, grieved too long, and is now doing what they would have wanted for you in the first place.”

Sara edges closer to the door, gets a glimpse of the two men as they stand beside a still sleeping Jax. Rip purses his lips together as he nods, taking Martin’s words to heart.

“You give sound advice, Professor.”

“Yes, I have been known to from time to time.”

Rip shakes his head with a smile, before taking a breath and asking, “Well if I may offer some of my own?”

Martin looks away and towards Jax as if he knew this was coming. Something tells her that this is where Rip had always intended for the conversation to end, and the Professor had walked straight into an artfully set trap.

“Mr Jackson is not your daughter.”

“I am well aware of the fact.”

Rip takes a step forward, “You can’t blame yourself for something you have no control over. I know you regret not being able to be a father to Lily, but Jax is not Lily. You don’t need a son, Martin, you need a partner.”

Martin sighs, deep and heavy, and there’s a twist of his mouth as he smiles wryly, “Yes. Mr Rory may have said something similar once before.”

Rip looks surprised. She’s sure her expression isn’t that far off either, but Martin doesn’t notice as he continues to speak. “And it’s something that I tell myself daily, but it’s just sometimes, I see him do something so monumentally reckless and I can’t help but get angry, scold him like he’s just a boy, because I can’t afford to lose . . .” He trails off and Sara thinks now would be the time to leave.

But she can’t.

“You should tell him.”

Martin huffs out a laugh.

Rip reaches out, rests his hand on the older man’s shoulder and squeezes, “True, he probably already knows, but it’s the words we don’t say that haunt us later. You should learn from my mistakes. Someone should.”

His words appear to sink in as Martin takes a step closer to Jax, and Rip’s hand falls away back to his side.

“Thank you.”

Rip nods, and he takes a step back towards the door.

“It’s good to have you back.”

“It is good to be back,” he says, and Sara thinks he really does mean it and it takes a lot for her to keep the ties that hold hope down in place.

She knows she’s going to get caught, because she can hear his footsteps as he leaves and heads towards the door, but she doesn’t really care. And so she presses back against the wall, folds her arm across her chest and bends her knee to press the sole of her left boot against the Waverider and waits.

He turns the corner but doesn’t even startle.

With mild irritation, she realises he’d known she was there all along.

He stops and leans up against the opposite wall, folds his own arms against his chest, bends his knee and mirrors her entirely.

She drops her leg and he quirks a brow.

The smile rises on her lips as she shakes her head to the side, and his eyes are a bright twinkling green that brings an unexpected blush to her cheeks.

“How did you know?”

“I heard you. Seems you’re losing your edge.”

 _And maybe gaining something else entirely in the process_ , she thinks.

The little uptick of the corner of his mouth makes her think he’s remembering their same conversation from long ago.

She clears her throat, “That was good of you. What you said to Martin.”

He nods, a hand curling up to the back of his neck as he looks away, “Yes. Right, well we are . . .” He drifts off and something clenches in her chest.

“Friends?”

Because surely, he must believe at least _that_ by now.

He looks back at her, gaze colliding with hers and holding it there. “Friends,” he repeats, without flinching.

She breathes out, “So in the spirit of friendship, what unspoken words haunt _you_ , then?”

His eyes widen in surprise, clearly having not expected that.

She smirks, shrugs as she says, “What? Thought now might be a good time for you to start learning from your mistakes?”

“Ah,” he nods, “I appreciate the thought, but not today, Captain Lance. All in good time though.”

“Better be worth the wait.”

“I suppose only time will tell.”

She snorts.

He smiles.

And she can’t help but think, and not for the first time, that he really should do that more often. It looks good on him.

 

][

 

His final reunion of the day comes a little later.

Jax looks a little worse for wear when he enters the jump ship.

Rip glances up from the console to see him hovering by the door, an expression of shame and embarrassment on his face, which only makes his heart twist. Especially when he has nothing to be ashamed of.

He stretches out his arm. “Ah Mr Jackson,” he says, “Perfect timing, could you pass me the-”

He feels the cold, heavy weight on his hand as he finishes his sentence, “Wrench.” He looks down at his hand and back up again, “Thank you.”

Jax shrugs, wordlessly gets down beside him and picks up the tablet from the ground, brow furrowing as he focusses on the readings and the current status of the jump ship.

“Good thing you came back when you did,” he says.

“Quite.”

They get to work in silence, and Rip has to stamp down on the ridiculous pride he feels as he quietly watches his friend from the corner of his eye.

“You’re staring, it’s creeping me out.”

Rip jerks his head back to the control board. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to worry. I’m okay.”

“That’s not. I wasn’t worried, no, I mean I was, but that isn’t . . .” he stops, takes a breath. “You’ve done a wonderful job with the Waverider, Mr Jackson. I don’t think I could have entrusted her to anyone else’s capable hands but your own.”

Jax doesn’t say anything, continues on with the wiring for a moment longer before finally speaking up, “I’m sorry you found me like that.”

“There is nothing to apologise for.”

“Still. Thanks for hauling my drunk ass back. And,” he stops, clearly struggling with his next words, “I spoke to Grey. Thanks, man.”

He purses his lips and gives him a curt nod of acknowledgement, before reaching out and patting him on the shoulder. He pulls himself up to a standing position, hands resting on his hips as he surveys the ship.

Jax looks up at him, “You in a rush to get this fixed, or something?”

He takes a moment, but in the end his reply needs little thought, “No, Mr Jackson, I’m in no rush.”

From the grin he gets in return, he knows that was the right answer.

 

][

 

Games Night.

Of course it had been the brainchild of Nate and Ray. Who else could have insisted that the team needed down time to recharge their batteries and this was the best way to do it? Amaya had been just as sceptical as her, but Jax had barely needed any persuading. All Mick needed was the promise of a six pack of beer and he was in. Martin was easily swayed, and even started spewing the company line that a little bit of relaxation was good for their health and team morale. To which she’d retorted, “How would you know? You’re not a doctor.” His response? “Only when it suits you.” And she couldn’t argue with that and was easily overruled. And so, Games Night was born.

To be fair, the team have so far been reasonably well behaved. The stakes in the poker rounds have never been too high, and she’s always managed to draw the line at strip poker, because god love her team, but she has no burning desire to seem them naked. Well, most of them.

The most they’d ever done was a little graffiti when their drunken Pictionary got a little out of hand and they had literally started drawing on the walls and the glass of Rip’s old office.

The mess in the morning from the bottle beers and empty bowls of popcorn and chips is always a little bit of a nightmare, especially when Gideon refuses to help. At all. Something about it not being in her manual, which _pfft_.

It’s only natural then that she always goes into the night a little wary of what’s to come, but tonight, she notes, is different.

Tonight, Rip’s back in the fold.

The fact that he’s even here, joining in, is the first surprise. The second is the complete lack of any apprehension on his face and the third is, _he actually seems be enjoying himself_.

She can’t help but watch on in disbelief, hiding the expression on her face as best she can behind her drink.

They’ve broken into teams for charades, and Ray and Rip have partnered up. They are doing abysmally. For one, Ray keeps choosing the most obscure ways to act out his words, and two, Rip’s knowledge of pop culture is woefully lacking. Despite, the fact they’re losing quite badly, this is the most relaxed she thinks she’s ever seen him.

He’s in a t-shirt and a pair of remarkably well-fitting jeans, and she remembers almost spitting out her drink the first time she saw him in them, because _who knew?_

But it’s not just the clothes. It’s him. It’s the lack of tension in his shoulders, how he doesn’t seem to be straining every muscle of his to keep himself together, and she just can’t stop staring.

“Sara? Sara!”

She swings around to Nate calling her, “Hmm, sorry?”

He shoots her an odd look she doesn’t want to decipher, before saying, “It’s your turn.”

She rolls her eyes, “I already told you, I’m not playing. If Mick can sit this one out, then I’m sitting it out too.”

She can feel Rip’s eyes on her as he watches her from across the bridge. She shifts slightly on her side, leaning up against the open doorway of the office as she sits there on the steps.

“Well, how about we play something else?” Rip offers. “We already know Martin and Jax have won with their . . .” he stops, tilts his head up as if he’s doing the mental calculations, “unassailable lead.”

“Yeah, whose bright idea was it to pair the two with the telepathic link together?” Ray grouses.

“Hey, I offered to partner up with you man, but you turned me down for the time traveller, who you said, quote unquote, _would know more_ than me!”

“To be fair,” Rip shrugs, “I do know . . .” At Jax’s glare, his words peter out to a mumble, “nothing about movies made in the 1990’s.”

“I know guys,” Nate pipes up, “Twister!”

He looks over at Amaya, and Sara reads the grin on his face easy enough.

“No,” Amaya refuses flatly.

“Aw, come on, it’ll be fun!”

“What’s Twister?” Rip asks.

The smirk on Nate’s face should have been his first clue, “Just you wait and see.”

 

][

 

Rip quickly decides that Twister is the real aberration.

His body is made to contort into positions he didn’t even know was possible, but the worst of it is he ends up getting intimately familiar with body parts of his former team mates he had no wish to ever get that close to. Most of them drop like flies pretty quickly, but it still surprises him when the first to fall is Sara, as if she hadn’t been trying at all.

Amaya ends up winning, and Nate is far too happy with that result for him to comprehend. He thinks he’s missing something there, but doesn’t think on it too long because there’s something more pressing he needs to get to the bottom of.

When the game ends, he gets up and walks over to where Sara has perched herself back on the steps.

“You threw that game on purpose,” he accuses, not even phrasing it as a question, so sure is he of his deduction.

He expects a little offense or indignation on her part, but what he doesn’t expect is the slow crawl of her eyes as it travels up the length of his body, “I had more fun watching.”

Her meaning is abundantly clear, and he really doesn’t know what to do with that as he blushes pink. Naturally, he decides, the best course of action is to ignore it altogether.

“Right, well,” he clears his throat, “it’s the first and last time I ever play that flimsy excuse of a party game again.” He rubs at his sore back in demonstration of why it’s such an abomination.

“That’s a shame,” she says.

And he looks back at her, questioning. Not really sure he wants to know how that thought of hers ends.

“What?” she shrugs, “You were actually pretty good at it.”

“Now you’re just making fun.”

Sara laughs.

And his stomach most certainly does not flip at the sound.

Most definitely not.

 

][

 

He ends up staying a week longer than he said he would.

She doesn’t ask him why he’s leaving this time, because she thinks she’s beginning to understand.

She thinks it has to do with his eyes on her when he thinks she isn’t looking. Thinks it has something to do with the fact she’s just as bad, but she’s not even trying to hide it anymore and all it does is make the tips of his ears turn bright pink.

She thinks it has something to do with the guilt he talked to Martin about the very first day he returned. And that maybe, _just maybe_ , it has everything to do with her.

She doesn’t push, because _time_.

He still needs time.

But one thing she knows for sure is that it has nothing to do with him thinking he doesn’t have a place on this team any longer, or thinking he has nothing left to teach them all. If this time with him has shown them anything, it’s at least that.

So once again she finds herself with her hand outstretched, but it’s not a farewell that falls from her lips.

“Until next time,” she says instead with the softest of smiles on her face.

Rip stands there staring at her, like he has been all this time but never quite so openly. And the look on his face? If she suspected before? She thinks she’s certain now.

She senses when he makes a decision, and for the briefest of moments she thinks he may just kiss her. But instead, he takes her hand in his, steps into her and presses his lips to her forehead as his hand cups her cheek.

“Take care, Sara,” he says into her skin, before stepping back and walking away.

He doesn’t look back.

And she doesn’t turn around to watch him go.

Later when the team are sitting around in the galley, it’s Ray that brings him up first, “It was good having Rip back. I’m gonna miss him.”

Murmurs of agreement flicker around the room, even Mick raises his beer bottle in salute.

It’s Amaya that asks her, “You okay, Sara?”

“Yeah,” she smiles.

And she really is, because if there’s one thing she knows, it’s this:

“He’ll be back.”

 

 


	3. you need to come back home

 

][

 

Coincidences.

Rip chalks it up to coincidences.

How else is he to explain the fact he’s found himself back on the Waverider at least four times in as many weeks? It’s not his fault that members of his former team keep pitching up to the exact place and time he’s chosen to land the jump ship to recharge and restock. He’s made a point of choosing moments that are remarkably dull and inconsequential to history, and yet there they are.

Without fail, trouble like hounds chasing at their feet and they can’t seem to shake them, almost as if they swathe themselves in bait on purpose.

“Hey, look who I found!” Jax shouts as they clamber their way up the stairs from the cargo bay, a limping Dr Palmer between them.

He hears Sara before he sees her, her footsteps on the metal flooring of the Waverider echoing closer as she turns the corner of the corridor.

“Well, since I sent you to get Ray’s idiotic ass back in one piece, that’s who I’m hoping . . . you’ve found . . .”

Her words trail off as she locks eyes with him.

And there goes that restless feeling again. Pattering away inside, making him want to run and hide. But it’s the strangest thing, really. Distance used to do the trick, but now he thinks the feeling is the inverse and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore. He’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do about it anymore.

“Hello, Sara.”

The momentary shock on her face softens into a smile. She shakes her head with a small laugh, as if she should have known;

“You following us, Rip?”

“Now why on God’s green Earth would I do that?”

“Oh I don’t know. Four times in four weeks, hell of a coincidence.”

“I think you’ll find the real coincidence is how you lot keep turning up literally five minutes after I land.”

“Five minutes, huh?” she raises her brow.

“Give or take.”

“Just what are you insinuating, Rip?”

“Exactly what you think I am,” he says.

She steps forward towards him, leaning in until she’s a little too close for comfort and breathes out, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He splutters, cheeks turning pink, his stuttering reply floundering helplessly at the sight of Sara’s knowing smirk.

Thankfully Ray pipes up and reminds them all of the more pressing matter at hand;

“Hey guys, still bleeding out here.”

“Ah yes, sorry Dr Palmer, we should be getting you to the med bay.”

He glances back up at Sara, and she’s still looking at him with those glittering eyes as she steps to the side and flattens herself against the Waverider, arm gesturing out wide. “After you.”

He and Jax half-carry Ray along.

He feels her eyes on the back of his head the entire way there.

She only disappears once Gideon gets to work, but not before holding his gaze and wordlessly conveying her point.

They were going to finish their conversation.

And this time, there would be no running away.

He gulps, turns to Jax and says, “Mr Jackson, it is actually quite fortunate that I bumped into you. Now that I think about it, there’s something I was hoping you’d be able to help me with on the jump ship.”

“Sure,” Jax shrugs, seemingly oblivious.

“Excellent,” he rejoinders.

That should buy him some time.

 

][

 

Sara takes the long way around back to the bridge, trying to get her thoughts in order.

Not that she isn’t pleased he’s back onboard, but she’s getting a little tired of the mixed signals. For a man who seems to be adamant that he needs time and space away, he certainly isn’t following through.

Coincidence.

He was sure it was a coincidence last week as well.

Part of her thinks that maybe he’s just making up excuses, doesn’t want to admit to the same thing she’s been struggling to admit to herself.

It’s been brewing for a long time. Can’t really pinpoint when it all started, but she thinks maybe it had always started with her missing him.

And she can’t stop, and she wishes she could, because clearly, he can’t feel the same. Always so quick to fly away. But hope. Ah pesky hope argues that he keeps coming back, and his farewells always seem to linger an age as if he can’t quite get himself to leave, and it’s getting harder each time.

Or maybe it’s wishful thinking.

Because he makes a fair point.

They always seem to arrive after him. Almost as if . . .

“Gideon?” she calls out carefully, forearms resting against the central console.

“Yes Captain?”

“Did you have something to do with this?”

“To what are you referring to Captain Lance? I do not understand the question, I’m afraid.”

“Of course you don’t.”

The AI is suspiciously quiet and she thinks that’s confirmation in itself.

“Gideon,” she tries again, going for a more direct approach, “Did you have something to do with us landing here in the middle of the south of France, 2058?”

“Technically yes, given the Waverider was flying on autopilot to the site of the Time Chasm.”

Sara rolls her eyes. Well, she should have seen _that_ answer coming.

“Except there was no Time Chasm?” she says, bringing up another question altogether. Just how the hell did Ray manage to get himself injured when all she’d done was send him out to do some reconnaissance in his A.T.O.M. suit?

“I apologise Captain Lance, it appears my sensors have been malfunctioning. I will be sure to run a full diagnostic.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Four times in four weeks.”

“If I may,” Gideon starts up, “Perhaps you should consider speaking to Mr Jackson.”

“Jax?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Fine,” she huffs out, because clearly she’s been missing something, and it’s her own team keeping her out of the loop, which only adds to her frustration. “Where is he, Gideon?”

“In the jump ship, with Captain Hunter.”

She sighs, “Of course he is.”

 

][

 

There hadn’t really been anything he wanted to show Jax in the jump ship.

And his pitiful, mumbling attempts to make something up are seen through straightaway.

Jax turns to look at him, arms folding across his chest, with a rather ominous, teasing grin on his face;

“Hiding away, are we Rip?”

He scoffs, “I am not hiding away, Mr Jackson. Who would I be hiding away from anyway? Mr Rory is not nearly as menacing as he thinks he is.”

“Nice try, man. Don’t think I didn’t notice that little something-something going on between you and Sara.”

He opens his mouth to no sound, before promptly shutting his mouth and trying again with some composure, “I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, and maybe if you did, _this_ would stop happening!”

All his thought processes screech to a halt. _Wait_ , he thinks, _hang on a minute . . ._

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

By the expression on the younger man’s face and his quick move to shrug his shoulders and brush it off with a “Nothing. I just meant . . . nothing,” Rip knows for certain he’s lying.

“Jax,” he says, opting for his first name, “What’s going on?”

“Yes, Jax, now would be the time to start talking.”

He swings his head around to find Sara pressed up against the doorway, arms folded across her chest, eyes firmly on the ship’s trusted engineer and mechanic. Who at this moment didn’t appear to be all that trustworthy.

He notes the second Jax realises the futility of his situation, and that he’s been quite effectively cornered. He throws his head back with a groan, and sighs deep and heavy before turning, surprisingly on him;

“This is getting stupid, man. This is your home. This team is your home. And yet you keep running. Ask yourself why?”

He frowns, confused, “I’m not sure I follow.”

But Jax doesn’t explain, says instead on a sigh, “This wasn’t even my idea. Ray and Stein came up with it. I just did the installing.”

“Installing,” Sara repeats, eyebrow raised.

And then it all falls into place.

Rip shakes his head, an impressed smile on his lips as he wags his finger, “Clever, Mr Jackson. Very clever.”

Sara still looks on confused, and frustrated, as he then spins on the spot to turn towards the main control panel on the jump ship. He crouches down, head disappearing under it, and yep. There it is. He gives it a yank and it comes away easily.

He throws the tiny device over to Sara, who catches it deftly in her one hand.

She holds it between her thumb and forefinger and raises a questioning brow at him.

“I believe that _that_ is a modified homing beacon of sorts, which I’m guessing Dr Palmer has somehow managed to link up with the ship’s Time Chasm sensor-”

“Which explains why we keep running into you, and why there aren’t actually ever any cracks in time for us to smooth over when we land,” Sara finishes, putting it together easy enough.

“Exactly, though it doesn’t quite explain how you all seem to find trouble regardless of the fact.” He stops, and re-thinks that, “Actually, I suppose with you lot, an explanation isn’t really needed.”

“Why?” Sara asks.

He opens his mouth to retort before realising her question hadn’t been meant for him. She’s looking at Jax.

The man in question rolls his eyes, “Great, of course now’s the moment Ray gets shot in the leg and I get the brunt of whatever this is.” He gestures between the two of them, the insinuation clear, “At first, this _thing_ you two have going on was kinda amusing, now it’s just getting plain ridiculous and not in a way that’s funny anymore. You’re both smart people, get your acts together and figure it out.”

And with that, he literally stomps past Sara and disappears back onto the Waverider, leaving the two of them there, dumbstruck.

“Well,” he swallows thickly, “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

Which is a complete and utter lie, because he knows. Doesn’t matter how hard he tries to push it away. _He knows._

He’s almost afraid to look back up at her, but he does it somehow, and he wishes he never had.

She doesn’t look angry.

Angry, he can work with.

No.

No, she just looks sad.

But he thinks ‘sad’ such a puny word. Because what she really looks is _heartbroken._

“Neither do I,” she says quietly, before turning on her feet and leaving.

And he can’t help but think it’s all his fault.

_Bollocks._

 

][

 

God, she thinks. How obvious must she have made it, if her team had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker? And how stupid and pathetic must she have looked that they thought they had to trap him into coming back time and time again. For her.

She could have tolerated coincidence, since it’s a shadow of fate, distinguished only by faith.

But this? This just makes it obvious all over again, how he’s never made this choice of his own accord.

She thought he needed the time to heal, both his fractured mind and heart.

And every time she’d seen him, she thought she could see just how far he’d come from that broken man that had first recruited them. She never thought he’d heal enough to realise he didn’t need them anymore. Didn’t need her.

But she’s angry too. Because she knows she didn’t imagine this. Whatever _this_ is that’s been growing steadily between them. Every lingering look, smile that she’s earned, every hand pressed against her cheek and that longing he thinks he hides but clearly _everyone_ can see.

She’s tried to bring it up, gets herself half way there before she steps back, scared of making him fly like he’s the bird with the broken wing. But he always finds a way to leave anyway, and isn’t that the point?

No. No, this time, she thinks, they’re going to finish this conversation that’s been aborted too many times now to count. She needs to know once and for all if she’s been fighting denial this entire time, or if there’s simply been nothing there to fight for all along.

And so she pushes herself up from where she’s been sitting in his office, feeling sorry for herself (because that’s more his style anyway, and she’ll be damned if she spends any more time moping about), and walks with purpose back towards the jump ship.

_Except._

Except he’s no longer there.

The sight of the empty jump ship has her heart twisting to knots, and for one painful moment, she fears he’s gone. _Again._

But then she hears him.

Her name falling from his lips, echoing down the corridor and she turns to find him standing there at the end, out of breath as if he’d been scouring the whole of earth and time, looking for her.

“Sara,” is all he says.

 

][

 

It’s in that moment, it all falls into place.

Standing there on the jump ship and watching her leave.

Because watching her leave turns out to be every bit as painful as he always knew it would be. Part of him, deep down knows, it’s the reason he’s always been the first to walk away but only now does he realise he’s never been alone, standing here on this cliff edge.

She’s been right there beside him the entire time.

Ready to leap. Ready to fall.

And he is, without question, an idiot.

He’s spent so much time running from his feelings, justifying them in so many ways. Arguing that he _shouldn’t_ because it would be a betrayal. That he didn’t _deserve_ this after everything he’s put them, _put her_ , through. That these feelings were just a moment of weakness and madness, and it’s funny how those often go hand in hand where love is concerned. But in his head, it always came down to just one thing: she didn’t feel the same. And that had been fine. It had to be fine.

He’s taken so long figuring out his own head and his heart, he never once dreamed there’d be anyone waiting there for him on the other side once he had. Least of all her.

But she has been. Patiently waiting there, giving him all the time in the world.

And, dear God. He loves her.

He loves Sara Lance with a fierceness that terrifies him and he’s been running from it for far too long.

And he can’t help but hate himself for making her think that all this time he hadn’t wanted to return.

That it wasn’t of his own choosing. That he didn’t choose her.

Because if he’s honest with himself, this has always been about her.

It’s been about finding a way to push past his grief, find a way to be _him_ again without Miranda and Jonas. Find a way to be whole again, because that’s the least she deserves. Not some broken shell of a man that she needed to fix. Because that’s not her job. Not anyone’s responsibility but his own.

But then, of course, he’d set himself up for failure right from the word go with an impossible task. Because those missing pieces, to patch himself up again whole? They’ve been here the entire time.

This ship. These people. His home.

He’d needed time.

He thinks he’s had enough.

Enough to remember what years aboard this ship, jumping back and forth through past and future, has warped in his mind.

Time is not infinite.

Not when you’re a pulsing heart, beating in time with the tick of a clock.

And so for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t think, just does.

Sets off down the corridors of the Waverider in search of her. And it’s just his luck that she’s disappeared. He walks past the galley, ignoring the looks Martin and Mr Rory shoot his way as he asks if they’ve seen her. “Nice to see you too,” the latter throws back at him, not that he sticks around to respond. Next, he tries the library to no avail. He even gathers enough courage to hover in front of her quarters, before Gideon chirps up without prompt;

“Captain? Might I suggest you retrace your steps?”

He frowns, takes a moment to figure it out, before throwing his head back when he does, grinning in relief. “Thank you Gideon!” he breathes out, and he sets off back down the corridor at a run.

He gets there just in time to see her standing there staring through the glass at the empty jump ship and he can see the play of emotions that pass across her face. The ones she usually guards so well.

It’s disappointment and heartbreak all over again, and this is the last time he’ll do that to her.

And so he calls out her name, stops thinking altogether and finally walks towards her.

Not away.

He’s done with walking away.

 

][

 

Time plays its strange trick again, slowing down and speeding up and she’s not really sure what’s happening except for the fact Rip’s walking right towards her, and the determined expression on his face has her coming to a standstill mid-turn, his eyes firmly locked on hers.

It’s her heart she thinks that pounds away against her ribcage, almost as if it wants to hammer through and escape. The lashing of words on her tongue dissolves into nothing as he nears.

And because he’s stolen everything from her already, it only makes sense then that he steals her breath away with his hands either side of her face and the desperate press of his lips against hers.

It’s a kiss that’s been a long time coming.

Doesn’t make it any less of a surprise.

She didn’t think he had it in him.

And then she stops thinking altogether as she pulls him closer, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket and she’s not letting him go.

Because this is home.

And surely he knows it too.

She wants to stay in this moment for as long as she can, but then he’s pulling away, her lips chasing after his. And she fears this is all she’ll get. Except he isn’t stepping away. His hands don’t leave her cheeks and his eyes are screwed shut, his forehead pressed against hers as if he doesn’t want to let go either.

“Rip?”

“I’m sorry, Sara,” he whispers.

“For what?” she breathes out, even though she knows she shouldn’t ask. Because nothing good ever comes from an apology. Not his.

But today’s been all about surprises.

From having him here again, from realising her team pay more attention than she gave them credit for, that they’re a lot more open to mutinous acts of subterfuge than she ever could have thought them capable, right down to the small matter of Rip Hunter knowing just how to kiss her senseless.

And so maybe she should have expected the shy, wondrous smile on his lips as he pulls back his face. His thumbs are warm against the skin of her cheeks, fingers still tangled in her hair as his eyes rove over her face as if he can’t quite believe he’s here. Standing in front of her like this.

“For waiting so long,” he says.

And as far as apologies go? She’ll take it.

 

][

 

 _I’m sorry,_ seems so trite. So miniscule. She deserves more of an explanation than that, but he’s finding it a little difficult to form thoughts let alone words at the moment.

She still has her hands wrapped around his jacket, pressing against his chest, against the thud of his heart. And surely it must give him away, spell it out for her? By the look on her face, the beautiful smile on her lips, he knows she’s reading between the beats, and gets the message just fine.

“So?” she whispers, and up close he can see the constellation of freckles on her skin and has to fight the urge to kiss her again.

“So,” he repeats.

“That was?”

That was _something._

He clears his throat, tries to take a step back to give himself some space to think, because there really are some things he needs to say, and he can’t afford to bollocks this all up again.

“We should talk,” he says, matter-of-factly, and by the widening of her eyes, he can’t help but think, _great, he already has._

“Wow,” she breathes out, “Breaking up already, are we? Didn’t take you for a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy?”

His face must be one of pure horror, as he stammers out a rushed, “No, no, God no, Sara, I didn’t mean . . . I just meant that we should probably discuss what it is that’s going on between us before . . . _and you’re laughing at me_ ,” he trails off in disbelief.

Because she is. Laughing. Eyes sparkling, grin on her face as she shakes her head at him.

She apologises with a quick press of her lips to his, her hand grabbing hold of his and pulling him around.

“Come on,” she says, tilting her head back, motioning him to follow.

And he’s helpless to do anything but.

 

][

 

“Uh, Sara? Just where is it that you’re taking me?”

She’s surprised he’s lasted this long, just letting her pull him by the hand around the Waverider and not questioning once. If she had put some money on it, she would have bet that as soon as they turned the corner to the stretch of the ship housing their quarters, he would break. And would you look at that? Right on time.

She turns back to him, eyebrows raised, “Where do you think?”

“Ah. Um. I’m not sure that’s . . . maybe we should . . .” It’s really kind of adorable how he’s stumbling over his words, his face turning redder by the second, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. It’s so at odds with the man that had been all fire and intensity just moments ago when he’d literally stolen the breath from her lips with his own.

“Oh relax, Rip. Bit presumptuous, aren’t we? What kind of girl do you take me for?”

The fact she’s teasing him again finally registers and he shakes his head, exasperation on his face but the sting of it is eased away by the fondness that sparkles from his eyes.

“Oh I think you know exactly,” he deadpans.

Just for that she tugs on his hand a little harder and he stumbles forward.

She grins.

She’s still buzzing from their moment, but she knows she can’t be swept away in it because they haven’t said much of anything really.

And yes, actions speak louder than words, but that doesn’t mean she wants to hear them any less.

And after all this time, she deserves at least that much. They both do.

“No, but seriously Sara, where are we going?”

“Somewhere to talk?”

“And why exactly could we have not talked there?”

“Really? You really want the rest of the team walking in on us? Remember Nate and Amaya?”

And from the look on his face, he definitely does.

It happened the first week he found himself back on the Waverider after his fourth, fifth sojourn away. Rip had gone to make himself a cup of tea when he’d walked in on the pair in a rather compromising position and stumbled back out of there furiously trying to scrub his brain of the image.

That’s how she’d found him, looking flustered and confused standing in the middle of the corridor sans his cup of tea.

She’d asked him what was wrong, and he’d managed an unintelligible mumble about something to do with _Mr Heywood_ , _Ms Jiwe_ and _kissing_ , with an added: _should have seen this coming._

To which she’d shrugged a rather dismissive, “And what?”

“And,” he’d spluttered, tomato-red, “With our run of romances on this ship, is that really wise?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she’d said with a pointed look, “I think love’s worth the risk.”

And then there’d been another charged moment of them both saying absolutely nothing with words, and everything else with their eyes. Now that she thinks about it, they’d gotten rather good at that.

“Yes, best to avoid that, I think,” Rip says, bringing her back to the present. “But honestly,” he continues, “where are we . . ?”

His voice fades out and by the expression on his face, Sara knows he’s figured it out as they come to a halt. She grins wide as she waves her hand against the sensor and the door whooshes open to reveal their much anticipated destination.

“The brig?”

“Yep.”

“Sara . . .”

“What? It’s perfect. The team won’t even think to look for us in here. Get in.”

His eyes comically bug out of his head.

“And why do we actually have to get in there?”

“Because we’re finally going to finish this conversation, and you’re not running away again.”

“Point taken.” He tilts his head back, and groans, “Fine. Though you do realise I know the override codes to get out of here, don’t you?”

“Not anymore you don’t,” she teases.

To which he purses his lips and nods his head as if to say, _“Of course.”_

The glass door slides closed behind them as she follows him in. Sara takes her seat on the bench and waits. She figures she’s waited this long, she can wait a little longer as she watches him pace the length of the cell, quite obviously trying to gather his thoughts.

“Right, yes, well, where to start?”

She raises an eyebrow, catches his gaze as he turns to face her and he stops his pacing.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out finally.

“You already apologised, Rip.”

“Yes, but you deserve more than that.” He sighs, rubs a hand over his face, before taking another breath, and starting again, “I think - I think it never dawned on me just how selfish I was being because I never even dreamt it a possibility that you could feel the same. Not that I understood exactly what it was that I was feeling, you see? Not at first. Or maybe it was more that I was terrified, and I didn’t want to acknowledge it, because, well . . .” He trails off and she can fill in the rest of the sentence.

Because life hadn’t been very fair to him. To either of them. They wore their scars like invisible armour, hidden away from sight because it wouldn’t do to share those traumas when they couldn’t even face them themselves.

They’d lost too much along the way, and it’s hard to look ahead and not have the fear of history repeating itself imprisoning your heart inside it’s cage.

And this man has had a front row seat to history, playing out, over and over, with nothing ever changing.

He doesn’t finish his sentence, just watches her intently.

She tilts her head ever so slightly to the side, and lets a slow reassuring smile spread on her lips.

Because maybe _this_ is why they never finish a conversation.

_They don’t need to._

He lets out a sigh, the corner of his lips turning up to match hers.

She stands up then, and takes the two small steps to stop in front of him, hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

“And just what is it that you feel, Rip?”

It’s a four-letter word, and who knew it could mean the same?

“Home,” he answers her, “I feel like I’m home, and you’re it, Sara.”

And well, he can’t just say something like that and not have her kiss him. And so she does – pulls him down to meet her as his own hands find their place on her waist, curving around her back to bring her in closer.

“So, I’m not alone in this?” he asks, breathless against her lips.

She tilts her head back, extending her arms and letting them come to rest either side of his neck, “You really need me to answer that?”

There’s a bashful curve of his mouth and she shakes her head fondly, giving him what he’s searching for; “No. No, you’re not.”

His smile then is brilliant, beautiful, as he presses his lips to hers once, twice, as if he can’t get enough. It’s like the flood gates have opened and he can’t stop touching her, not that she’s complaining.

“Right, excellent,” he nods, pressing his forehead to hers, “now that we’ve cleared that up, maybe we should get ourselves out of here, I’m sure the rest of the team are wondering where we’ve got to.”

“Uh, about that?” she says sheepishly, “I may have forgotten the override command to get us out of here.”

He stares back at her, processing, before slowly calling out, “Gideon?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure she’s going to be able to help . . .”

There’s a twitch of her lips as she says it, giving her away and it doesn’t escape his notice. And yet he calls out again, anyway, “Gideon?”

“I’m sorry Captain. In light of your previous stay in the brig, I have been instructed to not open these doors again without Captain Lance’s express command.”

He raises his brow at her, “Is that right?”

She shrugs, grinning, “Maybe it’ll come back to me in half an hour? An hour? You know, it may eve-mmph.”

He cuts her off with a kiss, and just this once, she finds she doesn’t mind so much.

 

][

 

Ray ends up making a speedy recovery. It’s all Gideon’s doing of course. Still, the advice is that Dr Palmer should consider taking it easy for the next week or so; though Gideon is a little more specific than that. But that’s the gist of it, anyway.

Of course, it provides a perfect opportunity for Mr Rory to pitch his suggestion of a vacation to Aruba again. As Rip knows well from Jax’s spirited retelling of their exploits with the dinosaurs, their first attempt of a well-earned holiday hadn’t quite worked out the way they were hoping.

Seems that particular disaster had left some scars.

“Yeah, I’d rather not,” Jax shrugs, “How about somewhere closer to home?”

“How about you count me out? I’d rather be T-Rex dinner than be seen anywhere near Mickey and Minnie,” Mick says, taking a swig of his beer with one hand, his other holding on to his precious, half-eaten cupcake. Rip thinks he seriously needs to consider putting a cap on the food fabricator’s confectionary output. He’s starting to fear a heart attack more likely to kill them all than a gun blast.

Jax’s face scrunches up in confusion and affront, “Hey, I never said anything about Disneyland! I may have mentioned a theme park, but I never said-”

“Disneyland?” Ray interrupts, his ears literally perking up like an excitable puppy as he sits there. “Yes, please!” And at the looks that get thrown his way, “Hey, what? I am the one who got shot, remember? I took one for the team, so that Rip and Sara finally got their acts together and she’d stop taking all her frustration out on us, surely I get to choose this time?”

The Waverider bridge falls deathly silent, and it takes a moment for the words to sink and settle.

Sara is the first to break it, “Hang on, wait, back up-”

Ray’s expression is textbook deer-in-headlights. “What? What did I say?”

“Dude!”

“Raymond!” Even Martin looks unimpressed.

“Dr Palmer,” Rip starts, “Do you mean to tell us that you got yourself shot on purpose, just to get me back on the ship?”

“Maybe,” he admits slowly, “Although, technically it hadn’t really been part of the plan-”

“Ray! Buddy!” Nate cuts him off, squeezing his shoulder, “Just how much of that morphine did Gideon give you?”

“Clearly, above the recommended dose,” Amaya mutters.

And Rip looks up at her in surprise. “You too, Ms Jiwe?”

She doesn’t even look apologetic as she folds her arms across her chest and shrugs.

“Unbelievable,” Rip says, turning to look at Sara to gauge her reaction.

Except she doesn’t even look the least bit surprised as she shakes her head, exasperation clear on her face. “Alright you bunch of matchmaking losers, I’ll give you ten minutes to come up with some suggestions for where to go next, and then we’ll take a vote, and if they’re not completely crazy, _maybe_ I’ll agree.”

The team almost instantly start talking over one another, there’s a lot of eye-rolling and hands being thrown about, and Rip just opts to take a step back and watch.

He comes to a stop beside Sara, who looks up at him, and he doesn’t have to look down at her to know she’s frowning, knows exactly what has him so curious.

“What?” she huffs out.

“Taking your frustrations out on the team? What exactly did Dr Palmer mean by that?”

She shakes her head, “You know I think I liked you better when you weren’t here.”

“Lies, Captain Lance,” he smirks, “I really had no idea you missed me that much.”

She shakes her head, trying to keep the expression on her face neutral but he can see her cracking, failing to stop the burgeoning smile, “Well you’re an idiot then.”

He slips his hand into hers and squeezes. “I’ve never claimed to be anything else but an idiot.”

She snorts.

“It’s good to be home.”

“Yeah?” she asks, bumping his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Nice to see you’ve finally taken your own advice,” Martin pipes up out of nowhere, and he hadn’t even realised the man had snuck up on them. He situates himself between them, one arm coming around either side to hold them each by the shoulders. He feels Sara’s fingers tighten around his, as the Professor turns his head back and forth, a rather proud grin on his face. “I, for one, am glad you’re home Mr Hunter.”

Rip nods, “Thank you, Martin.”

He pats them both on the shoulders and steps away.

It’s then that he spots Ray staring at them goofily, and no, he really does wonder just how much morphine the man has had. Far too much, apparently.

“Me too,” he shouts across the room, and the rest of the team fall silent, all eyes on him, waiting to hear the rest of his sentence with mounting anxiety, “You know what they say, right? Home is where the-”

“Ray-”

“Don’t. Ray, don’t finish that-”

“ _Heart is_ ,” he finishes with the cheesiest smile, and looking inordinately proud of himself.

There are collective groans all round. For his efforts he even gets Mr Rory’s cupcake thrown at his head.

And Rip? He just laughs, takes a look at each and every member of his team, soaking them in, before finally turning to look back down at his Captain and smile fondly.

Because, yes.

_Yes, it is._

 

 

**End.**

 

 


End file.
